Tag Archives: time-lapse

An inspirational journey through the iconic beauty of the American West. In just four minutes we hope to transport you through space and time, without ever leaving the planet, or, for that matter, your chair.

Wanderlust: Going West, a new short by Verglas Media, uses time-lapse photography to take the viewer across landscapes as iconic and colorful as the history of this country. National Parks seem to serve as sacred land to many Americans, and National Forests add to the opportunities for preservation and recreation. These protected areas, in some ways, are able to escape the endless march of progress. For me they represent a chance to experience the natural beauty and human stories that are quintessentially American.

Our last post explained the inspiration behind the film, so here I’d like to get down to the nuts and bolts: location, location, location. As humans, we are inevitably connected to place. When we leave the most familiar place, home, our eyes can’t help but open wide as our brains swell with new input. It’s my belief that this is why we leave home and travel to strange places, to be inspired, to expand our beings as much as our list of places, to become more than we were when we departed.

Not everyone has this opportunity. Many Americans, let alone much of this planet’s population, do not have the time, means or even physical ability to make such a trip as this film covers. It is not without a profound sense of luck of circumstance that I look upon my travel experiences. The dedication at the beginning of the film takes particular note of one of these people of whom I speak, whose circumstances did not permit them to exercise the wanderlust passed on to me.

Okay, I did say nuts and bolts. Here we go:

Canaan Valley, West Virginia – Almost heaven in my book, and a place I now call home. When I was struck with a particularly strong bout of home-sickness in West Texas, I thought of the coming winter’s first snow in the mountains. Instant peace.

I-90, South Dakota – It stretches out for quite a way, passing along endless fields and eventually dumping us into Wyoming. Wide. Open. Space.

Bear Lodge, Devils Tower National Monument, Wyoming – This is truly sacred ground to various tribes of Native American Indians, such as the Lakota and Arapaho. Its original name varies as well, but it belongs to a bear or a buffalo, not a devil. A hike around it reveals many, many more prayer bundles than climbers.

Yellowstone National Park, Wyoming – The country’s – and world’s – first National Park is full of American icons: Old Faithful, Yellowstone Falls, buffalo herds, elk and boiling rivers.

Grand Teton National Park, Wyoming – Hard to imagine a more magnificent set of peaks existing in the Lower 48, with such striking views for miles around. We stayed in the area for over a week, enjoying the park after attending the Jackson Hole Wildlife Film Festival. Snowy peaks, amazing films and filmmakers, and Jane Goodall added up to one fantastic week in September.

Bell Rock, Coconino National Forest, Arizona – Right outside of Sedona, this butte conjures up special connections to other corners of our galaxy. Or does it? Hard to say for sure, but its towering presence can’t be denied.

Gooseberry Mesa, BLM, Utah – Not far from Zion National Park, this mesa is a little plateau of starry nights and amazing mountain biking. You’d never know it from the road!

Arches National Park, Utah – We happened to be leaving Moab just as the park was re-opening after the partial government shutdown of 2013. No politics here, just a simple observation: the line of cars at the gate stretched on for half a mile!

El Morro National Monument, New Mexico – Quiet, and seemingly off the beaten path. However, one hike around El Morro rock and you’ll see carvings from centuries of travelers – from Anasazi (Ancestral Puebloans) to Spanish conquistadors to good old modern graffiti artists. And for good reason: El Morro’s huge water hole served as a refuge in the desert.

Fajada Butte, Chaco Culture National Historical Park, New Mexico – One of the original American astronomical observatories, and site of the famous Sun Dagger. This famous butte in Chaco Canyon, surrounded by the crumbling ruins of some of the most phenomenal Anasazi architecture, holds an ancient astronomical marker of the seasons. These people were star-gazers – and artists.

Enjoy the video and please share with others! Be sure to visit some of the links to learn more about each location. Better yet: visit some of these locations for yourself, and see many of these very angles. No climbing rope or ice axe needed! And if you’ve been there, done that – feel free to share with us in the comments below!

Growing up on the East Coast of North America, I’ve always found myself at home on the seashore. Upon visiting for the first time in a while, my preference is usually marked by a large intake of briny air; relief and reverence in one: Ah, the ocean.

I’ve seen many a sunrise from the Eastern Shore of the U.S., and each time it’s worthy of the alarm clock waking me, pushing me out the door, pre-caffeinated and barely aware. Cutting through the wind and cold or heat and humidity I can always find beauty and peace on the beach. There is also a very simple truth attached to these moments: Wherever you are, the sun will rise in the East. And later, it will set in the West.

So, what else happens in the West?

Long ago, I had the chance to find out for myself. I hopped on a plane, and five and a half hours later, landed in California. The wonders of flight – I’d found another ocean! I get this, I thought, this is the West!

In the years since I’ve traveled to various western states: Colorado, Nevada, Washington, Wyoming, Montana, Texas…the usual suspects. Many of these trips were short visits, a few days or a week, for either work or play, or a little of both. Focused and intentional, yes, but always short-lived. Even longer trips to Arizona and Utah were always truncated by the need to move on to the next location, or simply to go back home.

Recently, I did something a little different. I covered this country in a two-axle vehicle, never leaving the ground. I didn’t even make it all the way across, but often felt as if I’d traveled through time, sometimes to another country, even to another planet. This is a striking phenomenon. When we step off an airplane, we expect to be somewhere else. Someplace different. It’s jarring. Very. But expected.

A road trip is different. As my favorite travel partner, my husband, piloted the van I could put my feet on the dashboard, or camera out the window, or even take a cat-nap. In-between map reading and iPhone wrangling, the external scenery continually morphed in front of me. I experienced a gentle internal transformation, and with it, an even greater appreciation for this country and the vast spaces held between its borders.

As visitors we were presented with many a Louis and Clark monument, and once, overlooking the Missouri River, we stood paralyzed with awe as we tried to comprehend their journey. There were close encounters with sacred sites, accompanied by fierce wind and passing storms. We spent a week with the jutting peaks of the Tetons overtaking our view-shed, and the bold wildlife of Yellowstone National Park had a way of reorganizing our day. As the autumn progressed, long, clear nights revealed the Milky Way, and our awareness of the lunar cycle was re-awakened. We talked a lot about the Anasazi – where they traveled, how they slept, what they might have talked about on such a night. During the day, we walked gingerly through their crumbling masterpieces. We had an un-nerving campsite outside of White Sands National Monument, reminded that rockets are used for other purposes besides propelling scientific instruments into space for the good of humankind. There were sobering moments looking out over the Trinity Site, followed by our own personal scene from Contact as we watched the Very Large Array in a slow motion dance. And always – always – we passed through a small town that seemed straight out of another decade, some aching and left behind while others were thriving and revitalized. We had destinations, yes, but we also had aimlessness. We had freedom.